The burning city wasn’t enough light to see, and RuTing wouldn’t manifest a torch. She used the rope to guide them, trusting in her instincts and memory. She could point to the river, and with that reference, she knew where the fields were. She also had an idea where the bridge was, and she took an indirect path to avoid the patients who ran from their imprisonment to final dissolution.
Without light to ward off the nightmares, she heard whispers in the dark. She knew they weren’t patients. The patients said only one thing: ‘water.’
The whispers were far more sinister. They were half-formed seemings created from disturbed minds.
Her eyes adjusted to the dark, but they couldn’t adjust to near pitch black. She held one hand before her face to ward off low limbs. She discarded her boots and forced the others to do likewise with their footwear. With each step, she used the ball of her foot to sense for branches, twigs, or anything else that might impede her movement or create a sound. She whispered for the others to do the same. Her intention wasn’t speed but to see how quiet they could be.
Paris’ heavy footfalls were those of a soldier. She couldn’t deride his efforts. He carried Fintan on his back. She hoped he would improve with the thick mists, but he appeared worse. Her gregarious and expressive companion for the last few months was quiet, and she was afraid he was going in and out of consciousness, fighting the effects of the infusion.
As strong as they’d become, he was reset. When they were deep in the forest, she manifested a dim lamp of glowing chemicals like the ones the doctors used in the Annex. By that light, she checked her companions. The branches dragged scratches over Fintan’s face and hands. They weren’t severe, but this morning, she could have hit him with a two-by-four, and it would have splintered.
Cherry was similarly affected, but as she breathed in the thick mist, the scratches disappeared, and her clothing renewed. The librarian was scarcely aware of the fixes she manifested subconsciously.
To RuTing’s right wood splintered and she drew her sword slashing with one continous motion. The scales and claws could not be human. The red eyes and long incisors from the jutting maw could not be animal.
The unformed beast dissolved into pieces, and the brush around it fell in half, parted by her Skill.
“This isn’t enough light to stop the nightmares,” Paris said. Cherry huddled beside the lamp as if she could absorb the pale luminescence with her skin.
“If we keep moving, we will avoid most of them,” RuTing said.
“Then why did we stop?” Cherry asked.
“There will be a clearing before the bridge.”
“With torches.”
“And guards.”
Whatever trepidation Cherry had for the guards was insignificant next to the prospect of more light. RuTing had another worry. With such fear, Cherry might manifest light inadvertently. All the citizens of Bannerburg were taught to fear manifestation, but she might give away their location before RuTing was ready.
That settled the plan in her mind.
“I’ll go ahead,” RuTing said. “Wait for me before the clearing. I can manifest an illusion to cover myself while I investigate the bridge.”
“We should stay together,” Fintan said. His voice sounded lethargic.
She didn’t bother to argue. She let go of the rope she used to guide them and disappeared into the night. Fintan might be able to use his skills, but not for very long. She had the heavy sewing bag, and covering them all in an illusion would be impossible if she didn’t scout the area first.
Her illusions manifested an idea in her line of sight. The ideas were great illusions, but without a Fintan or an obstacle behind her, a one-dimensional idea wasn’t going to protect them from discovery.
She found the river first and saw torchlight along the bridge. Behind her, she heard broken branches and footfalls. She thought they must be her clumsy companions, but they could easily be mistaken for nightmares.
The solid stonework arched over the water with torches at intervals. She expected one or two guards and was disheartened at the sight of so many ogres. Two stood at each side of the bridge while twenty more held the grassy clearing. Torchlight flooded the area. The ogres were all turned in the direction of the smoldering city, and a dull red glow in the distance attested to the fires.
The distraction might have saved RuTing because surprise interrupted her illusion. One of the ogres was the Department Head. She recognized him easily, although he was armored. He was ogrified in the library. She’d etched his distorted face into her memory when he threatened Cherry.
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Two petrol-powered wagons were parked in front of the bridge, and they idled roughly. The occasional backfire hid other noises in the night. She didn’t have to worry about Fintan and the others being discovered too early. The drivers inspected the wagons—wheels, tires, suspension, and ropes. Four of the soldiers jumped in the back of the first wagon. It settled on its suspension, but there was room for many more.
“We can’t wait any longer,” a driver told the Department Head. “The Adversary must get his tribute.”
The Department Head swung around as if he had heard RuTing, but her illusion was secure. His voice grated, and he pointed his arm at a lonely tree sticking out from the forest in the clearing.
Dark metal surrounded his arm, and on his back, he wore a mesh bag full of glass balls. With a deep grunt, his arm cannon coughed a glass ball. It arced fifty feet and broke on the tree, creating a pyre of flames that burned a hundred feet in the air.
RuTing thought the natural gas explosion was intense, but with that ammunition, he could burn down the forest. The crown lit as if it was kindling.
“I can’t see them,” the Department Head said, “But I know they are out there. She wasn’t at the Portal Gate. She must have gone to the River Gate.”
“You could not anticipate her plan to escape,” the driver said.
“I gave her the plan, and I gave her the nudge when it was time. The Adversary wants her, and there will be hell to pay if we don’t deliver. He’s doubled the tribute.”
“If he doesn’t get the tribute on time, it won’t matter.”
The driver motioned to the other ogres, who loaded into the wagon. The tarp over the second wagon was tied with ropes, but RuTing could guess what was inside. No matter how many ogres climbed into the first wagon, the second was still lower to the ground. When the wagons left, the petrol motor struggled to move the second wagon. Only one thing was that heavy—metal. Probably gold.
With the soldiers gone, only two guards remained. They were positioned crosswise on each side of the bridge. That would be difficult for her illusion. She edged closer to the bridge.
The Department Head paced. His head snapped around, but he wasn’t looking at RuTing. Her illusion was secure. It wasn’t just the idea of sight but also sound and smell.
His eyes stopped in the trees, and his free hand whipped around his body to snatch a glass ball from a net at his side. He threw it with incredible speed and precision, far harder than RuTing could manage with all her levels. The glass shattered on a tree, but the detonation wasn’t fiery. It was explosive.
Like a bomb, it blew the tree away, and the rush of wind turned the fire sideways on the torches. Dirt, rocks, and branches flew in all directions, but it was the bodies RuTing was most concerned about.
Paris, Cherry, and Fintan landed in the clearing. They were broken and crumpled in the mist, but Paris and Cherry improved rapidly. With three gargantuan steps, the ogre’s free hand wrapped itself around Cherry’s neck. He lifted her off the ground and shook her.
“Why can’t anyone follow directions?” the Department Head asked.
“Maybe you should try asking Angus,” Cherry said. She gripped his huge hand with both of hers and spat in his face. RuTing was surprised at her act of bravery. Cherry was terrified of the nightmares and leaving the city but stood up to the threat she knew.
“Sadly, that is not an option,” Angus said. “Our freedom comes at a cost. Not everyone is willing to pay the price, or will, except a price has to be paid. The Adversary requires gold, so we pay him gold. He also requires you.”
“He has a thing for redheads now?”
“Ridiculous. Red hair is meaningless in the afterlife. He wants you because of the Swinger and because you are from the Union.”
“Send him the machine.”
“We have. No one else can get it to work but you. The scrolls dissolve faster than the books. It has to be your Skill. People from the Union don’t follow the rules. Your Skills don’t fit into the picture. The Adversary thrives on things that cause controversy. We’ve protected you as long as we could. Now we have to pay. When he wants something, there is no escape other than the river.”
Angus’ eyes turned away from Cherry’s face long enough to glance into that dark water. For a split second, he appeared to argue with himself. RuTing thought he might throw Cherry into the water. They were a hundred feet from the edge, but his strength was unbelievable. He held her unmoving as if his arm was made of iron.
Emotions conflicted RuTing, but her training denied them from slowing her response. Cherry's gasping was a muffled croak. Her face was blue under her red hair. RuTing swept her sword in a cut, extending the blade with her Skill. The slash divided the mist in a hair-thin line but stopped at Angus’s arm.
A white line under his skin was the only evidence of her effort. A tree far behind him split in twain, but Angus was unharmed.
She couldn’t focus her Skill and illusion at the same time. She was visible for all to see.
“I’ve seen that Skill, but you aren’t the Adversary’s assassin,” Angus said. “You’ve either been juicing or hiding gilders from us, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t understand the system. Adding unearned attributes will send you into the river faster than anything else. The afterlife doesn’t tolerate cheating. Unfortunately, you won’t get the chance to understand what I am saying. I won’t allow the Adversary another assassin.”
He swung his cannon arm over to RuTing with impossible speed. She was caught in the open, attempting to dodge an enemy that was bigger, stronger, and smarter. She didn’t know how old Angus was, but if he was older than Cherry, he had centuries in the afterlife.
His speed was impressive, but Paris lept onto his arm. Electrical charges lit the night as invisible fields fractured energy in waves across his body. Paris was the size of Angus's arm, and he wrapped both his hands around the cannon, riding it as the barrel pointed at RuTing. The shute activated, and RuTing thought the two might explode in flames, but instead, nothing happened.
“A technomancer pretending to serve Zeus?” Angus said.
The ogre's arm cannon split into pieces. It fell apart as if all the screws and components fought against each other to be free. Angus was left with his bag and his hose. RuTing reposted for a lunge.
“That won’t work,” Angus said, but she wasn’t aiming for him. She aimed for the glass bombs at his side. Her thrust was like a point that split the night air. The bombs exploded and sent Angus flying toward the river. RuTing was knocked aside in the blast, and Cherry and Paris landed deep in the woods.
The ogre fell with a splash, and the guards who had thus far let their leader fight alone decided to flee. The crater in front of the bridge was swept bedrock, perfectly smooth, white, and unblemished.
